Posted Monday, November 24th, 2003
3 poems from The Sebet-Juli Letters
An earlier time we were witches in a bed.
In the blue before morning we played a game and I won. There were no broomsticks but your eyebrows were long and dark.
Coffee, books, kitchens. You swept away from me, asking questions. I drew a diagram of where we stood. It was easy to fly away, your own teeth distracting you as the bugs rubbled up your wooden legs.
Tra-gic-gic-gic was the sound the train made going over a rock. The start of a vicious romance, a spell and an empty bed.
At the corner of 5th and Cortego someone was selling peas out of a burlap bag.
There were German children nearby arguing over the space between the bridge and the water. There were rumors they spoke in rat code.
It was a town of cheshire cats, dares and jumping tricks.
A small girl with a lisp winked at me with both eyes but I was too busy taking a bath. “Run along to hopscotch,” I waved her away and the pigeons on the windowsill seemed to sense it. She knew more than was good for her steaky appetite.
You could see yourself only at night. During the day you were gone.
Susan and I sat at the window for hours waiting. She had licorice and taffy in her socks and the spiders on the sill only encouraged it. Nasty tangled rubber bands, they egged on our obsession.
The nights of staring aged us more quickly, but the glass grew so fond of our noses and crooked teeth it made our wrinkles look only like brief stringlets of rain.
Comments [post a comment]
Posted by Katharine von Ter Stegge [ email@example.com
] on Saturday, November 29th, 2003 at 12:47 PM
Your narration and imagination are enviable! I love this small universe you've created. . .its stunning details.